Con-Sensual
By Clover Carmichael
Copyright 2012 Clover Carmichael
Smashwords edition
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When I checked my email one morning a few weeks ago, I thought, “Is it that time already?” It was the email blast from one of the larger the local sci-fi conventions. In a polite, enticing way, the message boiled down to: “Come out of your Mom’s basement! Put down your chips and salsa, put on your leather, put on your wigs, wings, gears, capes, and kitty cat ears!” This is the siren call of the con, and many succumb. Including me. Except for the “Mom’s basement” part, as the whole place was now mine and empty.
After she left for “new frontiers” (as she put it before her passing), it was just me here, alone in the house. I ate my dinner out of the microwave, and except for random mail, fabric, sequins, beads, ribbon and a sewing machine littering the dining room table, much of the house had been untouched. I was still on autopilot.
I decided I would go, but I realized I didn’t have the mental energy to put together a new, original costume this year. Mom wasn’t here to participate like before, and I was short on time and ideas. So I pulled out the very best of what I had. Velvet, tulle, hand dyed silk, boning, seeded pearls, and Austrian crystal rhinestones came together into what amounted to one of the most intricate, original, and sexy fairy costumes in local recent con history. I didn’t have a tiara, though. Mom had told me that when I found the utmost perfect one for this costume, that she would buy it. I hadn’t found it in time, and I hadn’t thought about it since, for obvious reasons. Tiara aside, this costume gets touched when worn. By extension, so does the girl wearing it. I might not be original in concept, but I would shine, and pretend.
When I arrived on the first day, I saw the familiar gaudy hotel carpet, the easels pointing the way to panel discussions, or in some cases, advertising other cons. There were people of varying shapes, sizes, and levels of personal hygiene. I have an average-to-good shape that is easily dressed, and some might say, undressed. I got registered, got my badge, and put my luggage in my room, then went back down to the ballrooms with my schedule in hand. I went to a few exhibitions, and tried some panels (and left some before they began). I was antsy. The buzzing energy of the con had me on edge and I found it hard to pay attention to the discussions.
I wound up people-watching a great deal, and like any other young woman with erotic tendencies, I watched the good-looking ones. There were ladies with cascading hair in jewel tones, pulling out and examining silver watch fobs from their Victorian velvet jackets, and a few of the men strutting about in their geek chic, who take adorable geekiness to an art form with their gigantic converse and black hipster eyeglass frames. I found a panel that sparked my interest and took a seat. I looked to my right about four minutes before it started to see the most gorgeous profile yet. I have a thing for beautiful profiles. He was a tall man, with reddish blond hair, loose but neat with subtle curls at the bottom. The bridge of his nose was strong and straight. He had an even redder beard and mustache, neatly trimmed. He had broad, muscular shoulders, a little on the pale side. I knew this because he had a near-sleeveless Viking costume on, with a helmet on the chair next to him. I idly wondered if he was saving the seat for someone. A girlfriend? Boyfriend?
I forgot my manners and kept staring, and knew his shocking blue eye color once he turned and we made humiliating, exhilarating eye contact. I looked away fast, and giggled like mad inwardly. What is this, homeroom in junior high? The panel might have been interesting, but I couldn’t concentrate, with the pulsating erotic wavelengths coming from my right. Real or imagined, it doesn’t matter, especially in a place like this. Also, nobody came to claim the seat occupied by his helmet. This was a good sign. After a while, some blowhard in the audience stood up during the discussion and said, “being a nuclear physicist, I am the only one here qualified to even talk about this subject...” and there was an exasperated sigh throughout out the room. It was here that the discussion took a spectacular downward spiral.